


On the Train

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, combeferre has a gr8 singing voice, courfeyrac likes patd idk, enjolras and grantaire are mutually pining nerds, idk idk idk why did i write this, they meet on the train to school idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-18 01:27:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2330195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"“Oh, well imagine, as I’m pacing the pews in a church corridor and I-” The song came through Courfeyrac’s earbud, since he only ever had one in. He sang quietly under his breath for a while as he read through his research paper for the seventh time since getting on the underground that morning."</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Train

**Author's Note:**

> no beta reader so pls tell me about mistakes ok thank u

“ _Oh, well imagine, as I’m pacing the pews in a church corridor and I-_ ” The song came through Courfeyrac’s earbud, since he only ever had one in. He sang quietly under his breath for a while as he read through his research paper for the seventh time since getting on the underground that morning.

“ _I can’t help but to hear, no I can’t help but to hear an exchanging of words-_ ” A voice sang. It was definitely not coming from his ipod. The voice, he had to admit, sounded incredible. It was gravelly yet pleasant in a way that made him want to listen for as long as possible. He turned to his left, and saw nothing but a very grumpy looking woman who was clutching her coffee tightly, as if it was the only thing keeping her alive, and judging by the dark circles around her eyes, it may have been.

He turned to his right. Sitting next to him was the most gorgeous man he had ever seen. Chestnut, hazel eyes, thick glasses, a sweater vest that was so wrinkled it suggested it had been thrown on in this man’s haste to leave that morning. And Courfeyrac realized that he was singing. Or at least he had been, until Courf had stopped. The stranger looked up, and his eyes met Courfeyrac’s.  

The man flushed instantly, and stumbled over his words as he said, “Sorry, I just like that band- I hope I wasn’t disrupting you or something.” He stuttered, glancing down at his textbook.

Courfeyrac laughed. “No, no you weren’t distracting me, not at all!” He said sunnily. “I’ve looked at this page probably fifteen times since I sat down. You have a lovely singing voice.”

At this, the stranger colored even more, if that were possible. “Thank you, people tell me that sometimes. I sing along to everything, it’s a habit I picked up. My roommate,” He paused to push his glasses back up his nose, which Courfeyrac found adorable. “My roommate likes to play music when he writes, I sing along, either to bother him or remind him I’m there, it depends on the day.”

“Hm,” Courfeyrac said, genuinely interested. “Your roommate's a writer?”

“No no no,” The man said, Courfeyrac realized he didn’t know his name yet. “We’re part of a social justice group on campus, he’s the leader, well,” He stopped to contemplate, “He says we don’t have a leader, we’re a democracy, but if we did have one, it’d be him. But anyway, He writes speeches, the music helps him concentrate.”

“Oh, that sounds like something I might be interested in. I’m Courfeyrac by the way.” He said, sticking his hand out for the man to shake.

“Combeferre,” the man, Combeferre, shook his hand and smiled warmly.

“Do you do protests?” Courfeyrac inquired.

“We do, actually. We have one coming up next week.” Combeferre looked hesitant for a moment. “Are you, by any chance, interested in queer rights or fighting for them because we tend to do go to a lot of protests having to do with that sort of thing.”

“Combeferre, I’m probably the queerest person on this planet. I’m pretty positive about that sort of thing.”

Combeferre seemed to slacken a bit with relief. “Oh, good. Wouldn’t want to invite someone to join a political club who doesn’t agree with your own views.” And then he laughed, and Courfeyrac got the sense there was something he was missing.

Courfeyrac smiled. “That’s very, very true. Where is your protest taking place?”

Combeferre opened his mouth to speak just as Courfeyrac’s stop was announced over the  loudspeaker. He threw him an apologetic look and murmured “I’ll see you around.” which Combeferre replied to with a nod and a disappointed look.

Courfeyrac didn’t think about Combeferre again that week. Okay, so that wasn’t true. Combeferre was all Courfeyrac would talk about for the better part of three days. Luckily, Jehan had both the soul of a romantic and the patience of a saint, so no one was really bothered by this. Except Courfeyrac, who continued to sit in the same spot on the train every morning just to see if Combeferre would show up.

Friday morning, he had just about given up on finding Combeferre. He was thoroughly buried in a text conversation with Jehan about their awful American Novel Writing professor who had given them almost thirty books to read that semester, when he walked straight into someone who yelped and started to apologize but suddenly stopped and asked “Courfeyrac?”

Courfeyrac looked up to see none other than Combeferre, in all his sweater vested glory. “Combeferre? You’re protesting on my campus?”

Combeferre laughed, “I guess so! Sorry I-” He was interrupted by someone yelling, and an annoyed look flashed across his face before an exasperated look rested there. He turned around, and Courfeyrac peeked around him to see what seemed to be an argument, and judging by Combeferre’s facial expression, it wasn’t the first. A tall man with long blond hair and a face like one of those sculptures you see at art museums, was arguing with an average height, black haired guy whose nose was crooked like it’d been broken and didn’t heal right, and seemed to be permanently covered in paint stains.

“I take it this is what you were referencing when you said not to invite someone with completely different views from yours to a political group?” Courfeyrac asked.

Combeferre laughed. “Yeah. The blond one is Enjolras, my roommate, and the one covered in paint stains is Grantaire. Believe it or not, they’re pretty much hopelessly in love with each other, and neither of them believes that the other one likes them.”

“Oh my god, that sounds awful.”

“It is, especially if you get Enjolras drunk because he’ll spend about three hours making a list of everything he likes about Grantaire, out loud, and one time in public. I had to pay Bahorel fifty bucks to make sure he didn’t video tape it.”

Courfeyrac giggled. “And what if you get Grantaire drunk?” Combeferre looked away and Courfeyrac knew he’d hit a nerve. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it I-”

Combeferre smiled reassuringly, “You didn’t know. It’s alright, don’t worry about it.” And Courfeyrac knew to drop the subject.

“So,” Courfeyrac said. “I wanted to know, but only if you want to, if you wanted to get a cup of coffee sometime?”

Combeferre smiled and it was the most beautiful thing Courfeyrac had ever seen. “Of course! I’d love to! My last class ends at two-thirty, If you want to meet me somewhere?”

“Two-thirty is perfect. Can I um,” Courfeyrac hesitated, suddenly nervous. “Can I put my number in your phone?”

Combeferre dug his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it and handed it to Courfeyrac. “Sure, put it in and I’ll text you, okay?” Courfeyrac put his number in and handed it back to Combeferre. “I’ve gotta run to class now, I’ll see you later!” he said and he took off.

About thirty minutes into his class his phone buzzed.

**from unknown number: can't wait 4 later!!! :))))**

Courfeyrac smiled the whole rest of class.

 

**Author's Note:**

> comment and kudos if you liked. if you didn't like it comment anyway.


End file.
